


Stolen Kisses, Birthday Wishes

by Proseandsongs



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (but like only one glass of champagne), (they aren't heathens), Adult!Dipper, Dipcifica, Dipifica - Freeform, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Oral Sex, Reverse Dipper Pines, Reverse Pacifica Northwest, Smut, adult!Pacifica, dippica - Freeform, hooo boy a lot of smut, this is total fluff and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8146436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proseandsongs/pseuds/Proseandsongs
Summary: It's her nineteenth birthday, and all Pacifica wants is to have Dipper to herself. No small talk, no dancing, no champagne. Just him. Although it takes some coaxing, once she steals Dipper away from the party, she is in for the best birthday present of the night. That is, If they don't get caught...Note: This is set in the Reverse Falls universe.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmberGlows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberGlows/gifts).



> This is shameless, fluffy smut. This story is a labour of love, which I spent a year writing, rewriting, and expanding into the fic you see today. It's my first foray into smut writing, so it's been a fun new challenge for me. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Also, I have to give the biggest thanks to my good friend (and unofficial life coach) Emberglows! Without her constant support and willingness to read my illegible drafts, I would not have been able to finish writing this fic. Thank you so much, friend! :)

When Pacifica seizes Dipper by the hand, he is confused. When she stretches on her tiptoes and murmurs for him to follow her into the corridor, he is intrigued. When they reach the deserted corridor and she presses her mouth to his, he is hooked.

Dipper closes his eyes and relishes the scrape of her nails over his skull as she winds her fingers in his hair. He doesn’t know why Pacifica has chosen to pull him aside for a make out while the Northwest Mansion is full of guests for her 19th birthday party, but he doesn’t risk questioning it.

It’s only when Pacifica’s mouth moves to his jaw that he speaks.

“Maybe we should– _ahn_ …”

Dipper whines softly as Pacifica nurses the fresh hickey with her tongue. When her kisses turn soft again, barely there on the tendons of his throat, Dipper tries to reason with her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this in the hallway. You know, the connecting path to every other room in your house?”

Pacifica’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe _you_ should relax.”

The open-mouthed kiss she presses to the base of his ear sends a shudder through him.

“Not that I’m not loving this – really loving _that_ ,” he adds airily when she sucks on his earlobe, “but is this…appropriate? Your family– _Ah!_ _God, Pacifica…_ ”

He inhales a shaky breath as Pacifica pecks the bite mark on his jaw. He won’t be able to hide _that_ during a show.

“Everyone’s in the other room,” he adds dumbly, sedated by the kisses that trail lower. When she hits the collar of his dress shirt, her hands untangle from his hair to fiddle with his bowtie. Dipper yelps and catches her wrists to still her hands.

 _“Seriously,_ Pacifica.” He throws a glance over his shoulder to ensure they are alone before he turns back with a frown. “What’s _with_ you?”

She pouts up at him and slumps forward. “It’s my birthday and all I’ve got to show for it is a roomful of my parents’ friends and a dress that’s slowly suffocating me.”

Pacifica wiggles her hips with a dark look. The rustle of her fuchsia gown momentarily drowns out the light music that wafts out from dancefloor and the fabric winks with iridescent light. Dipper appraises offending article and can’t find anything to be offended by. The sweetheart neckline is embroidered with fine jewels that spill onto the satin bodice and draw the eye downward to where her tulle skirt poofs out at the hips. A sheer black shawl falls over her shoulders, and through the luxurious fabric, her skin glows in the warm torchlight. He smiles.

“No complaints about the dress here. But if you’d like me to loosen it…”

Dipper waggles his brows and prepares himself for the inevitable scolding. He doesn’t expect the hunger in her expression.

Pacifica’s mouth curls slowly and the look almost knocks the breath out of him.

“Are you offering?” she asks.

Dipper doesn’t know how to respond to the seductive lilt of her voice or the swimming desire in her eyes now that it’s not merely flirtatious talk. After a moment, he breaks eye contact and releases her wrists to swipe his clammy palms on his trousers. He lets out a tense laugh and manages to sound playful when he asks, “Do you want me to?”

Pacifica’s smirk softens into a smile and she brushes her knuckles over his cheek.

“I do.”

The want and the tenderness rub her voice raw, and his belly flips at the sheer need in her response. He takes up her hand and presses his lips to it, then places his other hand on her waist and gives her the barest nudge.

“Lead the way.”

Her eyes glitter with mischief, and she snags his hand again. With her skirts hiked up in one hand, Pacifica drags him down the hallway at a clip, flouncing all the way. They take a right at the corner and march past a line of busts and paintings of distinguished, long-forgotten ancestors, down a long corridor that leads to a set of curtained French doors. Pacifica slips through the opening and hauls Dipper in after her, then turns to close the door with a thump. Hands trembling, she clicks the lock and tugs the curtains closed for privacy. When she turns back to Dipper, her chest is already heaving.

The décor, although elegant, shows its age. A velvet settee and two deep set plum armchairs are gathered around a glass-topped coffee table as if conversing over the porcelain tea set on display. On one end of the room, a large bay window with a plush window seat spills moonlight onto the cream carpet underfoot; on the other, a baby grand piano coated in a film of dust. The dust and the stale air confirm his suspicions: the room doesn’t have many visitors.

Heat runs down Dipper’s shoulders and crawls over his skull as it sinks in. He and Pacifica are _alone_ in a deserted room. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and he turns to face Pacifica, who is already red faced and panting.

“Are you sure about this?” Dipper asks as he wrings his fingers. “You know, we don’t have to do anything.”

Pacifica flicks her mussed fringe from her eyes and plants her hands on her hips. “Didn’t I just say I wanted to?”

“Yeah, but what if someone comes looking for us?”

Pacifica’s face goes blank for a second like she hadn’t really thought about that. With a grimace, Dipper points out, “Your mother was glaring daggers at me when we were dancing earlier. If I’m missing for too long, she’ll suspect I’m up to something.”

Pacifica raises a brow. “Are you afraid of my mother?”

He looks affronted for a moment, but the expression crumbles onto something more flustered.

“She’s a very intimidating woman!” he squeaks.

At her unimpressed look, his voice deepens and he adds with a smirk, “I think it runs in the family.”

“…really? You’re going to flirt with me by comparing me to my mother?”

He makes a face. “Yeah, not my best work. Sorry.”  
  
Worry lines settle into his brow and she senses she’s losing him. Pacifica is quick to take his hand and reassure him, “They won’t find us, I promise. The door’s locked and no one saw us leave. It’s just you and me.”

Hesitant, he twists his wrist to lace their fingers together with his eyes fixed on hers. Encouraged by his affectionate touches and soft expression, Pacifica takes a step back and leans against the wall with her chin aloft.

“Come on, Dipper. Don’t make me beg for it.” She guides his hand to her waist with a smile too innocent, too unassuming. Then, she adds as an afterthought, “Although I will beg, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

Her only warning is the tightening of his jaw.

He catches her by the hips and shoves her against the wall hard enough to make the doors rattle next to them. His mouth connects with hers in desperation and desire, and Pacifica immediately winds her fingers in his hair again. After a few loud, smacking kisses, he ducks his head to suck at her neck. Breathless and eager, Pacifica arches to meet him and chokes on her breath when his teeth graze her collarbone. He suckles and nips along her flesh, descending ever lower. When his tongue swipes over the swell of her breast, Pacifica catches the back of his head and gives a gentle tug. Dipper abandons her breast in favour of her mouth; hot, willing, wanting. Pacifica’s arms tighten around his neck and she hums as his arms wind tight around her waist.

Tingles spill over her when he slips the shawl from her shoulders with a whisper of chiffon and scrapes his nails over satin to cradle the small of her back. As he hugs her tightly around the waist, teasing just above her hips and ass, Pacifica feels a throb between her legs. On impulse, she closes her teeth gently on his lower lip and pulls away slowly to let the flesh drag out from between them.

Dipper opens his eyes with a gasp.

“New move, Northwest?” His attempt at nonchalance is thwarted by the rasp of his voice, but he feigns coolness with a raised eyebrow and a subtle curl to his mouth. “You’ve only been nineteen for a few hours and you’ve already surpassed me in experience.”

As he teases her, his hands slide lower to cup her ass through the layers of tulle and give her a firm squeeze. Pacifica feels another throb as he spreads his fingers over her cheeks and squeezes again, this time closing the space between their hips. Her head swims with excitement and, emboldened by his touches, Pacifica is brave enough to tease back.

“I have lots of moves you don’t know about.”

Her thigh shifts to line up flush with the apex of his legs, and she grinds it against the hardness there. His mouth falls open and he releases a breathy sound, his eyes lowered to watch her rub against him.

Pacifica cocks her head and whispers, “You like that one?”

“Yeah.” Dipper flashes his teeth and his eyes gleam when he says, “Mind if I borrow it?”

He dives back in with fervour, and soon his thigh is buried in the folds of her dress. Pacifica wiggles her hips against him, made shameless by champagne flavoured kisses and the heat pulsing between her legs. Just as the warmth in her core starts to spread, Dipper pulls his thigh back and releases the hold on her backside. Pacifica whines against his mouth.

“Dipper, don’t–”

The whine is brought to an abrupt halt, along with her heart, when Dipper’s hands move to the front of her skirt to lift it. He rifles through the pink tulle until he reaches the innermost layer; there, he traces the curve of her outer thigh through the silky fabric, brushes across her lower belly, and dips a hand to caress her. Her hips twitch, and she lowers her gaze to watch his hand.

“That’s a new move, too,” she says once she finds her voice.

Ever curious, Dipper lets his hand sink between her thighs and watches in fascination as her lips part and a half voiced _oh_ emerges. He cocks a brow.

“What do you think?”

“It’s definitely…different.” Her voice spikes when his fingers do another cruel pass.

“Good different, or bad different?”

The question is punctuated by a quick press of his fingers against her clit. Pacifica jumps.

“Good different. Um,” she wets her lips with a sweep of her tongue, “could you do that again?”

Dipper taps her clit again, and this time, Pacifica lets out a loud, shuddering breath.

Dipper lets up on the pressure and asks, “You doing okay?”

As Pacifica tries to calm her pounding heart, she nods. “Fine, I’m fine. This is just a little new for me.”

Dipper frowns thoughtfully. “What do you mean? Have you touched yourself before, or…?”

The casual question robs Pacifica’s mouth of all moisture. She has to swallow hard before she can reply.

“A few times. Just some experimentation by myself. Not like this, though.”

He’s all teeth when his fingers ghost over her front again. “I didn’t know you were interested in science.”

Pacifica shivers at the touch, her pussy already pooling with warmth. However, her voice trembles only a bit when she says, “There’s nothing like hands on research to get me interested.”

Dipper’s hand stalls.

“… _damn it_.”

He curves his hand to cup her through her dress and crushes his mouth against hers. Pacifica captures his face in her hands and ruts into his palm. Soon slickness spreads between her folds, and each pass of his hand stokes the fire roaring in her belly. The grinding starts off a bit awkwardly, their combined lack of coordination making it difficult to time their movements; but when the thrust of her hips miraculously matches up with the grind of his hand into her clit, Pacifica moans.

While she is stunned, Dipper extracts himself from the tight grip on his skull and lowers his head. He dodges the kiss she tries to plant on him and bends to kiss the valley of her breasts. When he stifles her objection with another grind of his palm, Pacifica arches into his hand and mouth with a moan.

His lips and hand disappear too soon. Aching for more, Pacifica searches for him, only to find Dipper on his knees with tulle bunched in one fist and a determined look on his face. As he traces her sex with a single finger, now at eye level, her stomach drops.

“Hey,” she blurts, breathless and anxious. Because this is too much, too good, too _fast._

Dipper looks up and concern overrides the lust in his dark eyes.

“Is this okay?” His voice is hoarse; whether from exertion or insecurity, she can’t tell.

Her tummy fluttering, Pacifica sucks on her lower lip and gives him a nod.

Unconvinced, Dipper removes the finger from the front of her panties and fixes her with a grave look.

“Pacifica, is this okay? Do you want me to keep going, yes or no?” His brow furrows and he adds, “I’ll stop if you want me to, you know that.”

The intense look in his eyes, stern and loving, makes her heart stumble over itself. Pacifica is overwhelmed by how much she wants this man kneeling before her with the reverence and devotion of a worshipper kneeling at an altar.

“No, don’t stop,” she says in a rough voice. “Please keep going.”

As soon as she says the words, Dipper is immediately back to business. He trails the fingers of his free hand all the way down the outside of her leg, keeping his eyes on hers. His hand dips under the silky hem of the innermost layer, and, with painstaking slowness, slides his hand up her calf, past her knee, up her thigh. Goosebumps break out under his touch and her legs start to shake as his hand rucks up her skirt to reveal her panties.

“They’re so cute,” he says in a low voice when he spots the dainty purple polka dots.

Pacifica’s face colors at the pleased grin on his face. “Thanks. I didn’t really know this was going to happen, so sorry I didn’t wear anything super sexy and wow.”

He laughs and raises an eyebrow. “You’re _always_ super sexy and wow to me. Even in these. _Especially_ in these.”

He fingers the bow at the waistband and delights in the soft growl Pacifica lets out.

“Less teasing, more touching,” Pacifica says with a huff.

“What’s the magic word?”

“ _Now_.”

Dipper rolls his eyes. “Well since you asked so _nicely…_ ”

Despite his confidence, which is soaring at an all-time high, here he hits a snag. The massive skirt of Pacifica’s ball gown, while beautiful on the dance floor, is not conducive to clandestine meetings such as this one. Dipper struggles to push her skirt up and away to grant him unrestricted access to his main point of interest. Each time he pushes it high enough, some of the obnoxious layers spill over into his hair and face, coating him in a fine dust of glitter.

After a few seconds of watching her boyfriend drown in tulle and satin to the accompaniment of increasingly frustrated grunts, Pacifica snatches up her skirts and bundles them in both hands.

Dipper smiles and shoots his rescuer a wink. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” Pacifica replies, flushed with pride.

Her thighs laid bare, Dipper’s hands are free to rove over her skin, digging into her thighs and hips in a massage that rekindles the fire in the pit of her belly. His nails scrape just enough to leave small white marks, and he kneads her thighs until they turn just as rosy as her face. Then, when Pacifica is so wet from all the teasing that her panties stick to her, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the top of her thigh and flicks his tongue out. Pacifica twitches and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Impatient, are we?” He sounds as smooth as ever, but the roguish flush of his cheeks as he traces the trim of her panties betrays his desire.

Pacifica sticks out her hips. “ _Please_ , Dipper.”

His expression softens and he kisses her thighs all over, pausing only to brush her skin with his tongue. Once he’s peppered her legs with kisses, he raises his head and leans in to kiss her lower belly right above the waistband of her underwear. He meets her gaze as he hooks his fingers into her underwear, and when she nods, he pulls them down. Here, he hits another, smaller snag: her high heels. With a little urging, Dipper helps her out of her shoes, first the right, then the left. Once the shoes have been tossed aside, Pacifica easily kicks her underwear away and gathers her skirts more securely in her arms. Finally, Dipper coaxes one of her legs over his shoulder with a gentle hand and aligns himself with her sex.

Pacifica’s nerves return full-force once she realizes how intimately close Dipper is. Oh god, she hasn’t shaved since last weekend, what if he’s grossed out? Does it smell weird? What if he doesn’t want to do it anymore?

Her fears are banished when he parts her folds with one hand and his tongue darts out absently at the sight of her wetness. With a smile, he whispers, “You’re so gorgeous.”

His eyes flit to hers a second before he leans in to kiss her.

“Oh shh… _shit_ ,” Pacifica mumbles.  

“ _Language_ ,” Dipper murmurs before he leans in again. This time, he closes his lips around her clit and Pacifica’s head falls back with a breathy moan.

Her sound acts as a trigger. Dipper sucks at her clit, closing his lips on her sensitive nub over and over, then introduces his tongue. Pacifica swears again, and this time he doesn’t correct her. Instead, he hums and swipes his tongue over her lips.

As Pacifica surrenders herself to the pleasure, her hips rocking as she whimpers, Dipper brings a single finger close to her sex as he runs his tongue over her clit. With a quick glance up to check on her, panting and slack jawed, he just barely presses into her wet entrance. She bears down on him and groans her encouragement.  He wants to comment, desperately, on how good she looks flushed and panting with just the tip of his finger inside of her, but he refrains.

For the first time, there’s a more appealing sound than that of his own voice: the sound of Pacifica coming undone.

With his increasingly confident mouth and finger, he works up a rhythm that draws a crescendoing spill of profanities and pleads from her lips, interspersed with stifled cries of his name. While she clutches her skirts with one hand until the glitter scrapes her palms, she buries the other hand in his hair to guide him. She angles her hips closer to his seeking mouth and thinks to herself _this is it, this is what it means to fall apart._  Shaking and gasping, Pacifica dangles from the precipice by the crook of his finger.

At one point, Dipper has to come up for air, although he keeps his finger pumping in and out of her. As he works his jaw and tries to catch his breath, he admires the view from below. Her heaving chest, trembling hand, and scrunched face all make for a pretty picture and he lets himself feel a bit proud of his handiwork.  

His admiration is interrupted when the hand on the back of his head flexes and Pacifica opens her eyes.

“Please keep…going, I’m – s-so…”

Dipper grins and thrusts his finger deep. “You’re so _what_?”

Pacific’s lips part in a surprised half-voiced moan and she squeezes her eyes tight.

When she doesn’t give him anything else, he stills his hand. “Speak up, Princess. I’m not a mind reader.”

That earns him a weak hair pull. “You’re a jerk.”

“True,” he concedes, “But that doesn’t answer my question. What do you want me to do?”

“You know… _exactly_ what I want you to do,” Pacifica pants.

“Also true. I just want to hear you say it.”

Pacifica shoves down the snappy retort that wants to burst out, and the petulant complaint, too. Either response with stroke Dipper’s ego even more than a plead to come would, and Pacifica won’t give him the satisfaction. Beneath the bravado and the smugness, Dipper is just as nervous as she is.  

She can use this to her advantage.

Even when she’s panting and flushed crimson with her skirts bunched around her waist and her panties on the floor, Pacifica can still muster a haughty look of command that belongs on the face of a queen. Her voice is cool when she speaks.

“I want you to prove that you deserve the privilege of going down on me.”

Shock flickers over his face and his mouth falls open. He looks like a startled goldfish, wet lipped and grasping for something to say, and Pacifica has to bite her tongue to resists the urge to laugh. She maintains her lofty look until Dipper’s face breaks into a grin.

“Prepare to be convinced.”

Pacifica is more than convinced by the now confident way he closes his lips on her pussy and curls his finger. Dipper’s pace is relentless, and within a minute Pacifica feels the deep pulse in her core.

“Dipper, _shit,_ I’m…oh _god,_ I’m gonna.. _._ ” She breaks off into a keen, her hips rutting into his mouth and finger.

Dipper, quickly losing his second wind, breaks away with a gasp and says, “Show, don’t tell.”

When he sucks her clit and flutters his tongue, it all bursts into fireworks behind her eyelids. Her hips cant into him with a cry and his free hand snakes around to grip her backside, holding her there as his tongue laves over her. Only when she begs him to stop does he remove his mouth from her swollen clit, and she falls back into the wall with a gasp.

“Oh my _..._ ” She tries and fails to find an expletive that will do justice the sensation she just experienced, so the sentence dies off.

He smiles. “Happy birthday, Pacifica.”

His mouth glistens with her essence, and it’s lewd, but Pacifica loves the look of it. He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, winking at her, and Pacifica’s legs start to shake again. Finally, he pulls his finger from her, and Pacifica is sure she would collapse right on top of him were it not for the hand firmly moulded to her ass.

Dipper is infuriatingly collected when he pats her thigh and asks, “How was that, birthday girl?”

“…oh my _god._ ” She covers her eyes with a hand as she tries to catch her breath.

“Not quite god, but I appreciate the comparison.”

Pacifica lifts her hand to level him with a look of exasperation, but she’s too exhausted for sarcasm. Instead, she buries her hand in his hair again.

“You’re awesome, you know that?” she says in a low voice as she massages his scalp. “Thanks, sweetie.”

He leans into the touch. “The pleasure was all mine. Believe me.”

Her mouth dimples at the corners as she teases, “I don’t know, I think I might have you beat.”

Dipper eases her leg off his shoulder and helps her into her underwear. When Pacifica insists that she’s okay to stand again, he gets to his feet. Dipper tugs the handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the last of her cum from his mouth, then his fingers, dainty like he’s just finished fine dining. His knees and his jaw ache, but he is too pleased by the blissful expression on Pacifica’s face to care.

She finally lets her skirts drop to cover the hickeys forming on her thighs and winds her arms around his middle. Dopey and punch drunk, she tilts her chin up and leans into him with stars in her eyes.

“Seriously, though. Best birthday present ever.”

Her grin is like a magnet, and he quickly leans down to press his mouth to hers. Pacifica is fast to reciprocate, and soon his breath is ragged with the heat of her kisses on his jaw and throat. He turns to putty as Pacifica stokes his shoulders and sides, backs him up against the piano, and guides him to sit on the padded bench. She bends to fiddle with his belt buckle, and _click, zip,_ his trousers are open. Her teeth graze his jaw as her hand dips into his trousers, and he gasps.

“Pacifica–”

“Pacifica, darling? Are you in there?”

They both freeze at the chilling voice of Priscilla Northwest.

Dipper tries to calm his panting as he watches Priscilla’s silhouette fall over the curtains that cover the French doors, ominous like a distant storm cloud on an otherwise sunny afternoon. He jumps when the door rattles. The thought of Priscilla barging in to find her daughter’s hand down his pants is enough to drain the arousal from him.

After a few attempts to turn the doorknob, there comes a knock and an impatient call. “Pacifica?”

Dipper eyes the window and considers the likelihood they can escape through there without drawing notice. However, now recovered from her initial surprise, Pacifica doesn’t seem concerned. She presses a finger to her lips and sinks to her knees before him. Dipper opens his mouth to protest, but no sound comes out when she traces him through his briefs with her fingertips. The touch sends another little shiver through him, and Pacifica smiles. As she lightly drags her fingertips across the front of his underwear to coax him back into hardness, her other hand wanders around and down the back of his trousers to squeeze his backside.

He tries to reason with her in a hiss. “Pacifica, your _mother_ –”

Pacifica shakes her head frantically and taps her lips again for silence. Dipper tries not to breathe for a few seconds, and Pacifica goes still, too. After a few erratic beats of his heart, the shadow finally passes over the door and disappears with a clack of high heels. 

Once the footsteps fade away completely, Pacifica runs her hands up his chest with a smile.

“Your turn,” she whispers.

Pacifica unfastens the buttons of his suit coat and shoves it partway off his shoulders with strong, insistent hands. Dipper has to wiggle his shoulders and arms a bit to get it off, and the instant he does, she’s at his throat, tugging at his tie.

“Hey, easy! This one’s new.” Dipper bats her hands away and starts to undo his tie with experienced fingers.

Pacifica sticks out her tongue. “You’re so prissy.”

Dipper rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t relent. After a few seconds, Pacifica starts to unbutton his shirt from the bottom. Once his tie is off, Dipper joins in, starting at the top, and their fingers meet partway down his front. Pacifica opens his shirt wide, her warm hands sliding over his chest, and she presses her lipsto his sternum. The glide of her fingers over his skin and the soft nips she trails down his stomach send another set of chills through him and into his groin.

Pacifica stops between his thighs and her brow sinks in concentration. Lips parted and swollen, her warm breath washes over the front of his underwear, hinting at what is to come.

When she dips her head to press a kiss to his hardening cock, the heat of her mouth through the fabric of his underwear draws a groan from his lips. He reaches back to grip the edge of the piano bench and bites his lip to stifle another sound as she takes hold of his hips to bring him closer. Pacifica alternates hot, lingering kisses and light pecks that make his arousal return with a vengeance. His moan when she presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his bulge is accented by a twitch of his hips. With a sultry look from beneath her lashes, Pacifica tugs his trousers down to his knees to reveal a wet spot on his briefs.

“Excited?” Pacifica asks softly.

Dipper swallows hard. “Maybe a little.”

She laughs again. “Understatement of the century.”

Dipper is too mesmerized by the sight of Pacifica so close to his dripping erection to save face. He licks his lips and whispers, “Pacifica…”

An unspoken understanding passes between them. Pacifica nods and pulls down the waistband of his underwear to reveal a tuft of pubic hair. She kisses the skin just above the patch of hair and sweeps her tongue in a wet line. His hips buck up to meet her and his jaw goes slack.

“Yes,” he hisses quietly.

Pacifica’s eyes crinkle in amusement, and she finally pulls his briefs over the curve of his backside and down to his knees.

The cool air on his erection sends goosebumps bursting over his thighs and up his bare torso. He watches through hooded eyelids as Pacifica tentatively takes his length in her hand and gives it an experimental stroke. His hips shudder. Pacifica tries again, this time with a firm grip, and she finishes with a flick of her thumb over the tip. Dipper groans loudly and thrusts up into her hand.

Pacifica’s face brightens like she’s just solved a mystery, and she imitates her second stroke.

“Mmhhh – _yes,_ Pacifica,” Dipper mutters as he digs his nails into the leather.

Within minutes, Dipper quivers at the waves of pleasure rolling in his gut, his eyes screwed shut as he breathes heavily through his nose.  He’s positive he’s never felt anything this good in his entire life – until Pacifica stills her hand and swipes her tongue over the head of his cock. He doubles over like he’s just had the wind knocked from him and lets out another moan. Pacifica licks his erection up and down a few times, and it feels like heaven. Then she takes him into her mouth, and it feels like sin.

“ _F-Fuck,”_ he chokes out. His hips tremble as he fights the urge to drive into the warmth of her mouth.

Pacifica’s eyes twinkle, and she pulls back with a slick pop that is far too arousing. She tilts her head and asks, “What were you saying about language before?”

He flushes at the memory of tutting “Language,” between her thighs and shoots her a sheepish smile.

“S-sorry about that,” he stammers, “I was just teasing.”

“I know.”  Pacifica beams up at him and shuffles more snugly between his legs as she adds, “And you shouldn’t be sorry; swear as much as you want. It means I’m doing a good job.”

With a grin, Pacifica ducks back down to take his length into her mouth again, further this time. As she starts to gently bob back and forth, Dipper’s head falls forward again and he closes his eyes with a shudder. The warmth and wetness of her mouth as she sucks on his member is almost too good to bear, and his fingers scrape over the leather beneath him as he tried to stay still.

When his whispers of encouragement trail off into hisses of pleasure, Pacifica trails the fingers of her free hand along his inner thigh until she reaches his balls. She gently fondles them and he swears, loudly this time. Pacifica can’t hold in the laugh that breaks through, and the vibration of her laughter on his cock sends a jolt deep into his core.

“H-holy shit, Pacifica, how did you…” He breaks off into a whine when she cups his sack in her palm, ever gentle.

Pacifica pulls back again, much to his dismay, and replies primly, “Research.”

Before Dipper can process the implications of Pacifica’s “research”, she takes as much of his member into her mouth as she can and hums long and low as she runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft. His hand lands on the back of her head and his fingers dig into her locks to keep her there for a few extra seconds. At the stutter in her hum, he quickly loosens his hold.

“Sorry, sorry! Am I hurting you?”

Dipper tries to peel his fingers from her hair, but Pacifica won’t have it. She claps a hand down on his and holds it fast as she continues to bob her head.

His hips shake and he cries out. “ _Jesus,_ Pacifica, I’m – fuck, fuck, _fuck–”_

As he feels the familiar coil tighten in the pit of his stomach, Dipper tries to pull Pacifica away, but she resists. When she sucks on him and flattens her tongue underneath his member, he unravels with a jerk and a curse.

Pacifica, a bit startled by the ferocity of his orgasm, swallows as much of his climax as she can. It’s not enough, and she pulls back before he finishes. Some of his cum dribbles out of her lower lip as she tries to catch her breath.

His cock twitches and spurts once more, and Dipper is left a heaving, red-faced mess. As he starts to descend from his high, Dipper squints down at Pacifica through drooping eyelids. The sight of his cum on her lip, pearlescent against her smudged pink lipstick, embarrassment curls in his chest, squirmy and warm. Only when Pacifica goes to swipe the back of her hand across her mouth does Dipper remember his manners.

“Here, let me…”

He falls to his knees and fishes the handkerchief from his pocket with a trembling hand to wipe his cum from her mouth and chin. When her face is clean, Pacifica stills looks a bit dazed, but she smiles. Dipper drops his handkerchief and cups her face in his hands as he tries to come up with something to say.

“You…thank you,” he wheezes.

Pacifica’s eyes regain focus, and she giggles. “Thank you? I’m pretty sure that deserves more than a thank you.”

“No, I know…of course.” He swallows hard and starts to babble. “You were incredible and I’m glad that you were my first, and it’s just…I love you so much, Pacifica, and not just because of that, although _that_ was pretty wow, am I right? Seriously, how did you even – just _wow_.”

Pacifica snorts. “You’re so goofy.”

The next kiss they share is different from the ones before, soft and slow. He still tastes Pacifica on his tongue, but there is a new flavour that he realizes partway through must be him. The novelty is erotic, and Dipper is dragged deep down into Pacifica, suddenly drowsy post-climax. He breaks away from Pacifica and fumbles to pull on his trousers and underwear with leaden limbs. He buttons his shirt up but can’t be bothered to tuck it in or straighten the collar. With the last bit of energy he has, his arms wind around Pacifica’s middle he falls back against the piano bench with a grunt. Despite the party still happening somewhere in the mansion, all he wants to do is curl up with Pacifica under the piano and _sleep_.

“Nooo, Dipper. We have to go back.” Her protest is weakened by the eager arms that wrap around his waist as she nuzzles his neck.

“If you move, I’ll be forced to turn your legs to jelly again.” It’s a mild threat, especially since Dipper can’t imagine trying to sit up, let alone going for another round, when he’s so tired.

Pacifica nudges him. “That was beginner’s luck. It won’t work next time.”

“So…I’m hearing there’s a next time?”

She laughs into his shoulder. “Yes. And a time after that…and a time after that…and a time after _that…_ ”

“Wow, really?” Dipper whistles softly. “Looks like I’m booked for the summer.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Pacifica sinks into his arms, now a dead weight herself, and Dipper feels her breath even out. Sleep starts to pull at the edges of his mind, and Dipper is struck with the serenity of being able to cradle his lover in his arms without any interruption.

He is prepared to surrender to slumber when a rapid tapping catches his attention. As he listens more closely, he makes out running footfalls. His eyes snap open, and he sees a silhouette fall over the curtain again. The figure tries the knob, and this time there is a _click_ as a key turns in the lock. Dipper barely has time to do more than jolt Pacifica awake with a shake before the door is flung open to reveal a short, stocky teen in a ghastly blue suit.

“Oh my – Gideon!” Pacifica shoots her cousin a bleary-eyed scowl.

“Where in tarnation have you been?” Gideon demands as he plants his fists on his hips. “Your mamma’s madder than a hornet in a bonnet. Why are you locked in–”

His eyes fall on Dipper and he freezes for a moment. Then, he narrows his eyes. “What is _he_ doing in here?”

“None of your business,” Dipper says as he juts out his chin.

“Never mind, Gideon.” With a resigned sigh, Pacifica wiggles out of Dipper’s arms and struggles to her feet in her ball gown. When Dipper doesn’t make a move to stand, she swats his shoulder in warning. Finally, Dipper pushes himself upright and straightens his collar as best as he can.

Gideon doesn’t back down. He scrunches his nose in suspicion and asks, “What were you two doing in here, anyway? Was there another ghost or somethin’? Y’all never invite me on ghost hunts!”

Pacifica snorts and exchanges a covert look with Dipper. “No, it definitely wasn’t a ghost.”

“Then why do you look like you just had a tussle? Your hair’s all messed up and you’re sweatin’ like a sinner in church.”

Pacifica growls in the back of her throat and gives her cousin a stern look. “Gideon, you remember that talk we had about being nosy? This is one of those moments. This is private boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, alright?”

He pulls a face like he smells something putrid and opens his mouth to object. Pacifica doesn’t give him the chance.

“Look, cuz, I really need you to cover for me with my mother, okay? Please?”

Gideon sizes the dishevelled pair up with a shrewd eye. Under the scrutiny, Dipper absently wipes his mouth like he can still feel Pacifica’s wetness on them. Pacifica jabs him in the side and he drops his hand.

After a long moment, Gideon gives in. “Fine,” he sighs, “Just don’t come crying to me when your mamma gives you an earful later.”

“Thanks, Gid.”

Pacifica smiles at Gideon, who gives Dipper another distasteful look before he pivots and leaves with a slam. The lock clicks behind him.

After a few beats of silence, Dipper voices what they’re both wondering.

“Do you think he knew we were…?”

Pacifica cocks her head and purses her lips. “No, I don’t think so. He would have probably shrieked and fainted if he figured out what we were doing.”

“Interesting.” Dipper pats Pacifica’s shoulder and takes a step toward the door as he says, “Be back in a second, I need to test your theory.”

“You will _not_.” Pacifica snags him by the sleeve.

Dipper sticks out his lower lip and scuffs at the floor with his shoe. “You’re no fun.”

Pacifica rolls her eyes and changes the subject. “So what now? We can’t go back looking like this.”

Dipper tilts his head to the side. “We could stay here and go for round two. Or,” he continues when she cuts him an unimpressed look, “we could clean up and go to The Diner for birthday cake.”

“I like the way you think, good plan,” Pacifica drawls sarcastically as she brings a hand down on his shoulder. “Quick question: how are we supposed to get out of here without getting caught?”

Dipper throws his thumb toward the window and raises a questioning brow.

Pacifica sighs. “A little unorthodox, but I’ll take it.”

Cloaked by the early summer night, the two lovers steal away through the creaky old window, unnoticed by the guests drinking and gossiping themselves into a stupor in the ballroom. Hand in hand, Dipper and Pacifica leave behind the brightly lit Manor and the lush gardens, giggling and whispering mischief beneath a swathe of stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think here or at my blog proseandsongs.tumblr.com.


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